


Guide When Eyes Grow Dim

by Vampiric_Charms



Series: Burns Most of All [6]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 22:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6538786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale of gifts.  Or, rather, one of <i>bribery</i>, and how Mairon was able to convince Melkor to stop his tiresome complaints of heat while in the forge.</p><p>Set before Mairon's fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guide When Eyes Grow Dim

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samwisespotatoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwisespotatoes/gifts).



> This was written as a request for **samwisespotatoes** , who asked for happy fluff. I may have also added my standard dose of inner turmoil/snark - perhaps to a lesser degree - but I’m hoping fluff presided as much as it can for these two! This is set before Mairon’s fall/seduction.
> 
> I am still open for requests! Please let me know if you have any. I do love writing these for you all, truly.
> 
> Enjoy!

“That’s a lovely ring,” Curumo said, looking across his worktable to Mairon’s. “Who commissioned it?”

“Oh.”

Mairon paused his work, lowering the paper he was using to buff the gold band’s surface. The ring was nearly finished, a modest piece with a large cut of blue-toned lapis held in the center setting, golden flecks marking its surface. Smaller wires of rosy and yellow gold wilted away in a thick braid, wrapping around the main band to meet underneath. He had found the stone a long while ago during a search for new materials, and only just decided its use after keeping it locked away.

“There is no commissioner,” he answered after a moment. “This is merely a personal project.”

“I wish I had your skill!” Curumo smiled and set down his own tools, holding out a hand in silent question. Mairon placed the ring on his palm without much hesitation and watched as the other Maia held it up to the flickering light of the lanterns and furnace fires surrounding them, eyes wide with appreciation. “Have you shown Master Aulë yet? He might keep it for himself, don’t you think? Something this magnificent is worthy to be worn by a Valar.”

Mairon reached out to take the piece back. He took up the buffering paper again, running it over the bends of wire. The gold shone brightly under his touch, pulsing through his gentle fingers with subtle earthen energy waiting patiently for its final home. “No, I have not shown Master Aulë. I was going to keep this for my own collection.”

Something akin to surprise passed over Curumo’s face, washing away again in the firelight, and Mairon met his gaze. The two were not friends, exactly, but he did like Curumo as much as he did any of his fellow Maiar. “I will show him when he returns,” Mairon relented softly, and the growing fissure between them faded away quickly. Just as he knew it would, really, his words a balm for the misplaced concern. “If you think I should.”

“It is not my decision,” Curumo hastily replied. But he grinned again, fully at ease with the situation once more. “And I will not say anything myself, so long as you show me how you achieved that, there, with the wiring. I have not come close yet to finding such perfection and I would love to learn.”

“Agreed.”

Mairon returned his smile, the meaning behind his intent sincere. They continued working in silence broken only by Curumo’s hammer-falls and the much softer scrubbing of the paper against the ring in Mairon’s hand. A companionable silence, one they had found so often before during their long time together. Finally, minutes or hours later, Curumo leaned back and set his hammer down to begin putting away what had gathered on his table. It was only a short while later that, after a jovial parting word, he left and Mairon was alone, surrounded by the smithing fires breathing contentedly into his soul.

“I thought he would _never_ leave. Wretched creature.”

Mairon glanced over his shoulder, no longer surprised in the least by Melkor’s visits to the forge. He had not been expecting the Vala just then, but he made no mention of it as the other came into the heated room and slouched against the far wall near the open door.

“That is a terribly mean thing to say about poor Curumo,” he murmured distractedly, gaze going back to the ring as he finished polishing it. “He lives for the forge just as I do; it is rude to desire him to leave simply so you may come in.”

“And what, you expect me to enter while he is still here? You certainly think highly of yourself, if you believe I will risk my fate by allowing someone like _him_ to catch sight of me just so I might see _you_.” Melkor scoffed out a derisive laugh, not moving away from the wall and the very faint stream of cooler air coming in from the hallway. “Why is it always so unbearably hot in here?”

“You could always leave, couldn’t you,” Mairon snapped, sending another mildly aggravated glare toward the grumbling form so far away. He still smiled, though, one corner of his lips curling upward, and turned away again. “You did not have to hide in the shadows waiting for Curumo’s shift here to end, if you were only going to be so very bitter about it. And it is hot because this is a _forge_ , not a breezy gazebo in the garden - as I seem to remember mentioning several times already.”

Melkor let out an unhappy sigh, but he made no motion to leave, instead raising one large hand to fan dramatically toward his face.

“Oh, come, do not be so petulant about it. There is not a single thing I can do to alleviate the heat, and you are very aware of that after our many conversations toward this fact. It was your own choice to come in here, I have no guilt over that.”

“Fine, fine.” Melkor sighed again and dropped his hand. 

Mairon looked up as he finally approached, and he laughed lightly at the scowl of outright irritation on his face for coming too near the fire. “It is not so bad, once you get used to it. I promise.”

“I will have to take your word on that,” he muttered, “given you have fire in you, yourself. You probably _enjoy_ being so close to these damnable flames. It is not a - what do you call it? - a ‘ _fair assessment_ ’.”

“It _is_ a fair assessment of our current situation, as your complaints are baseless due to the fact you scavenged them from nothing. If I were to give you a gift,” Mairon continued softly, the smirk pulling his lips again as the words spilled out easily between them, “would you _please_ stop bemoaning the inconsequential heat?”

The mention of an offering of some sort immediately caught Melkor’s attention, and, rather than pace away as he was about to do, he paused at Mairon’s side to raise an eyebrow. “Perhaps. What kind of gift do you have for me?”

Mairon ran the cloth over his ring one last time, ensuring it was properly finished, and held it out to catch the light. It gleamed, the lapis reflecting the flickering flames and making the blue and gold glitter. “Will this suffice?”

Melkor took the offered piece silently, examining it and taking in every curve of wire and gold around the beautifully cut stone. It was not an overly large ring, but its statement was wrought with elegance and simplicity. Something to be noticed out of sheer virtue, not to the point of needless extravagance. 

“Extraordinary,” he breathed, turning it this way and that.

“I can size the band, if need be,” Mairon said into the calm stillness that was falling around them as Melkor continued to study the jewelry. 

“There will be no need,” Melkor told him, shifting the ring to slide onto the middle finger of his right hand. He extended his arm out to gaze down at the finished product. “A thing of magnificence. And the gold is still warm. Is that from your touch, then, or is it so fresh from the fire?”

“Not a wholly unbearable warmth, I hope,” Mairon said with a little chuckle, and Melkor grinned at the small barb. “It was finished a bit earlier. I have been polishing it since then, removing any burrs or sharpness.” That did not answer the question, necessarily, but given the heat actually was from his own touch and not the forge’s fire, he was not sure what exactly to say to that effect.

“A gift to be treasured.” Melkor’s smile widened. He looked at the ring a last time and lowered his arm. “I appreciate this, Mairon, truly. Your craftsmanship is remarkable. I am honored to have a piece of it for my own.”

“Master Aulë taught me everything I know,” he demurred.

“If you say so. Though I must admit, I have never seen him create something quite like this. Aulë’s work is rather ostentatious, while this...is perfection.”

Mairon met Melkor’s eyes and felt a bubble of pride swell in his throat. It had been so long since someone had praised his work. Curumo’s words before - of course they counted for something, but perceived favorite or not, Master Aulë paid so little attention now to what he did. Not out of cruelty or malice, but simply because he trusted Mairon to create his work to high standards without a guiding hand. Rarely did he look to see what was being crafted, and even less to give praise that once flowed so freely. While it was not hurtful, hearing such wondrous words for his art after so long without brought a sense of genuine happiness into his being.

“True to my word, as ever,” Melkor said, either not noticing or ignoring the change in Mairon’s expression, “I will not mention the horrendous heat of this place again. Though really, how do you ever stand it? I think I may wither away.”

Mairon glared at him, even if it held no real ire, and Melkor laughed with a sound deep from his chest. “No, no, you caught me. That was my last complaint, I swear it.”

“As if I believe a single word that comes out of your foul mouth.”

That rolling laugh came again, echoing through the forge, and Mairon was unable to keep back the wide smile that broke across his face. He began to remove the tools from his workspace, cleaning so he might leave, and listened as Melkor attempted to halfheartedly defend his _terribly_ defamed character over such an insult.

The ring now on Melkor’s finger gleamed in the forge’s flickering light, and a weight felt eased from Mairon’s shoulders each time the gold glittered there.


End file.
